Hear Me Roar, For Winter Is Coming
by Isnotamusedsir
Summary: "Pray, watch for the Kingslayer's hand," Robb said. "You may end the night with a dagger in your back." He flashed his sister a concerned look, his bright blue Tully eyes filled with said emotion. Jaime/OC
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

King Robert Baratheon ran his short, pudged fingers along the stone of the statue of his deceased beloved, Lady Lyanna Stark. Her brother, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell watched his close friend. Only Robert's breath could cut through the thin sound barrier. Eddard clutched the large black lantern in his calloused hand, watching patiently from behind. The Stark family crypt was cold, yet it did not bother the Northerner. His friend from the South shivered, despite the barricade of fat he had gain through out the past decade since the two had lingered eyes towards one another.

"She was more beautiful than that," the king announced, scowling at the stone face looming above. "Ah, damn it, Ned, did you have to bury her in a place like _this_?" He shuddered once more, rubbing his nose. "She deserved more than darkness…"

Eddard stepped forward, gazing at his sister's grave. "She was a Stark of Winterfell," he told the king. "_This _is her place."

The king shook his head. "She should be on a hill somewhere, under a fruit tree," he laughed quietly, smiling, "with the sun and the clouds above her and the rain to wash her clean."

"I was with her when she died. She wanted to come home—to rest beside Brandon and Father." _Promise me. Promise me, Ned._ "I bring her flowers when I can. Lyanna was fond of flowers." The memory of Rhaegar Targaryen handing a beautiful arrangement of blue roses that day during the tourney still made his blood boil.

"I vowed to kill Rhaegar for what he did to her."

"You did."

"Only once."

The Targaryen's blood drained from his pale body, staining his beautifully silver colored hair. Blood swam like serpents, and the armies ceased fighting, crowding over the corpse and snatching for the jewels encrusted on his armor. Robert pulled off his Baratheon helmet, panting. He turned towards Eddard, and nodded.

"In my dreams, I kill him every night," the king told the lord. "A thousand deaths will still be less than he deserves."

Eddard held his breath. "We should return, Your Grace. Your wife will be waiting."

The king scoffed. "The Others _take _my wife." He followed Eddard out of the cold crypt. "And if I hear 'Your Grace' once more, I'll have your head on a spike. We are more to each other than that."

"I had not forgotten… Tell me about Jon."

Jon Arryn—the former Hand of the King, and Eddard's good brother. "I have never seen a man sicken so quickly. We gave a tourney on my son's name day. If you had seen Jon then, you would have sworn he would live forever. A fortnight later he was dead. The sickness was like a fire in his gut. It burned right through him. I loved that old man."

"We both did," Eddard said. "Catelyn fears for her sister. How does Lysa bear her grief?"

"Not well, in truth. I think losing Jon has driven the woman mad, Ned. She had taken the boy back to the Eyrie. _Against my wishes. _I had hoped to foster him with Tywin Lannister at Casterly Rock. Jon had no brothers, no other sons. Was I supposed to leave him to be raised by women?"

"Robert," Eddard began. "The wife has lost the husband. Perhaps the mother feared to lose the son. The boy is very young."

"Six, and sickly, and Lord of the Eyrie, gods have mercy. Lord Tywin had never taken a ward before. Lysa ought to have been honored; the Lannisters are a great and noble House. She refused to even hear of it," the king spat. "Then she left in the dead of night, without so much as a by-your-leave. Cersei was furious. The boy is my namesake, did you know that? Robert Arryn… I am sworn to protect him. How can I do that if his mother steals him away?"

Eddard cleared his throat. "I will take him as ward, if you wish. Lysa should consent to that. She and Catelyn were close as girls, and she would be welcome here as well."

The king smirked. "I generous offer, my friend, but too late. Lord Tywin has already given me his consent. Fostering the boy elsewhere would be a grievous affront to him."

As the night elapsed, the debate of the Arryn family grew tiresome. Robert held his hand up to Eddard's face. "I have need of you, Ned."

"I am yours to command, Your Grace," Eddard said. "_Always."_

And so, the king spoke, and the lord listened. The king barked, and the lord remained strong. The lord became hand, and the praised Hand of the King. And after while, more time passed. "If Lyanna had lived, we would have brothers, bound by blood and affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Etienne shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might have once done."

"Your Grace," Eddard argued. "It pains me to say that I cannot promise my eldest to yours."

"Are you arguing with me, Ned?" The king raised his brow.

"I suppose I am. Your Grace—Robert… Etienne is barren. She had an accident with Robb years back. She will not be able to give you what you hoped to achieve with my sister."

The king turned towards the moon. "Is that so?" Eddard nodded. "And then so I extend my proposal to your Sansa. Unless she too is barren?"

"No, Your Grace. As enlightened as Cat and I are, she is soon to flower."

"Good," the king said. "I feared I would have to promise Arya. Gods know how painful that would be. She resembles Lyanna, Ned. I doubt I could watch Joffrey wed someone so beautiful."

Eddard smiled. Etienne and Sansa had little taste for Arya. They felt she would taint the family, and often giggled in dark corridors, dreading her marriage to a bastard and birthing hideous children. Arya did not have the Tully features, but she was a proud Stark, and an even prouder split image of her aunt. Eddard and Catelyn both knew that she would grow to be a beautiful woman, and hoped to break her boyish actions before the wilds claimed the girl, much like Lyanna.

"Wait," Eddard said. "Sansa is only eleven—"

"Old enough for betrothal. The marriage can wait a few years. Now stand up and say yes, curse you."

"Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Your Grace. These honors are all so unexpected. May I have some time to consider? I need to tell my wife."

"Yes, yes, of course, tell Catelyn, sleep on it if you must. Just don't keep me waiting too long. I am not the most patient of men."

And just inside of the great castle, guests mingled, and already serving girls had smashed several pitchers of wine whilst defending their virtue. Etienne watched her father and the king through the largest window of her sleeping quarters. She smiled as the king pulled her father to his feet, and clasped him on the shoulder. A knock came from the eldest daughter's door, and Etienne's direwolf puppy Ana took a large, powered bounding leap off of the bed, her gray coat shining in the fire's light.

Etienne and Robb's direwolves both bore similar features, and were found huddled together, a mere foot from the rest of the wolves. Grey Wind was sheidling Ana from the others, and the bitch had not been discovered until Robb cradled Grey Wind in his arms, and pulled Ana with. Yet Grey Wind and Ana had not the same eyes, but the smoke grey fur.

The wolves were close, just as the siblings were.

"You may enter," she called, smoothing down her blue dress. The white lace rimming her neck felt like wet fire against her skin. She yearned to yank it off, but she knew better. She was a Stark. Her brother Robb gazed at her in awe, extending a clothed arm out towards his sister. She was his youth by a mere year. She grasped his arm.

"I believe Joffrey will be escorting Sansa to the feast," Robb told his sister during their departure from the room. "If I am correct, that means one of the queen's brothers will be leading you, Sister."

"I'd rather let the dwarf do it," Etienne said. "No, in all honesty, it matters not to me which of the brothers is to escort me."

"Pray, watch for the Kingslayer's hand," Robb said. "You may end the night with a dagger through your back." He flashed his sister a concerned look, his bright blue Tully eyes filled with said emotion.

"Robb, stop," Etienne pled. She cleared her throat. "Are you taking the princess?"

Robb nodded. "Did Mother do your hair?"

"Yes," she answered, patting the back of her bun. "Robb, do you think I am sore on the eyes?"

"Your dress is lovely—"

Etienne shook her head, and her voice cracked as she held onto Robb with more force. "My face, any other time. I hear the kitchen staff speaking of me behind closed doors. They hush about Arya and I, not that I care much for her, however. They often think aloud, or maybe they forget who they are. They say I wear the Tully hair and eyes poorly, and that it amazes them how perfect Sansa turned out. They never cease to let me remember how I will never hold my own child in my arms. I do not blame you for the accident, Brother, yet their words have become unbearable. They even call me an audacious child. But I am nothing like Arya. I—"

Robb cut her off. "Sister, you must ignore it all. Saying this with utmost respect, you are not an ugly woman. You are a Northerner. You look the part, better than some. As you age, I feel you will become what the staff proclaims that you aren't—gods know you shall be better than Sansa. You have nothing to fear."

Etienne flashed him a sad smile, and embraced her brother. "My thanks, Robb."

Guests were already seated inside of Winterfell's Great Hall. Catelyn Stark greeted her eldest children, breaking away from her conversation with the queen. And the queen followed. "Your Grace," Catelyn began. "My eldest, Robb and Etienne, proud Starks of Winterfell."

The queen showered the two with a false smile. The siblings bowed before the queen. "You look lovely, Your Grace," Robb told his elder.

"You appear to bear the appearance of a Tully swaddled in Stark colors," she snapped, and focused her sharp green Lannister eyes on Etienne. "As does your sister."

Etienne stood taller. "I believe my father has returned to escort you into the Great Hall, Your Grace."

The queen backed off, but by no means had the mere children, making her own way towards the king and the lord, rattled her. Jaime Lannister watched his sister, and Etienne swore to the old gods that their hands entwined for the slightest of seconds. Jaime caught her looking, and the Stark daughter turned away, facing her mother.

"My children, you both make me proud. You both know what we are expecting—_all of Winterfell will be watching_. The king and queen. I have the highest faith for you. Now, I trust you two will at least acquaint your own well-being's with your partners."

Robb took off gleefully. It was Etienne who lingered. "Mother. Which of the Lannister's shall I be appointed to?"

"Ser Jaime of the Kingsguard, my daughter," Catelyn told her with a tight face. "Do not mention Lysa around him. They both had a rather… _troubling _past with each other."

"Understood, Mother."

Catelyn nodded, vanishing through the weave of guests. Etienne slowly approached the Kingslayer. _Pray, watch for the Kingslayer's hand_. She shivered. "Are you cold, my lady? Such a thing surprised me."

Jaime grasped her pale hand, brushing his thumb across her knuckles. When his lips replaced the memory of his limb, Etienne felt angst. He was faking every moment of it. She had half a mind to tell him to shove off until she remembered Robb's words; _you may end the night with a dagger in your back. _

She forced a smile just as unreal as his actions, while enduring feeling of the queen's eyes boring into her. "I trust your journey was not harsh, Ser Jaime."

"As well you should," he said. "Tell me, Lady Etienne. How could you possibly have come from such prepossessing parents, and yet…"

"And yet what, _Kingslayer?_"

"It is time," Catelyn announced. Cersei broke her gaze, and grasped Eddard's arm.

Etienne felt herself blindly entwining with Jaime's arm. He was taller than her, much taller than Robb or her half-brother Jon the bastard. Up ahead, Sansa smiled gleefully, Arya scowled, and Rickon stood alone. Bran brushed his fur cloak. "Try not to make a fool of yourself, my lady," Jaime warned.

"Try I shall," she told him. "And succession with be of utmost truth before your eyes." Jaime smirked.

_Pray, watch for the Kingslayer's hand. You may end the night with a dagger in your back. _

**AN: I have been deeply contemplating whether or not I wanted to do this story. I decided to make this a mix of the books, and the show, so ages are younger like in the books, and Robin is Robert, **

**etc. I have it set as Game of Thrones and not ASoIaF because, well… I feel like a larger audience will be drawn to the show. This also has pinches of AU in it; so do not throw a pissy fit if something is different from the show/books. This is so awkward to write, man… I fantasize about Jaime! And it is hard to write sophisticated dialogue, whereas I'm so used to dialect writing Walking Dead. **

**I am going to say this now. Etienne is supposed to be civilized like Sansa because I absolutely cannot stand it when OC's are just like Arya. However, Etienne will have a lot of maturing to take on, and she will not always just be the boring barren daughter of the Starks. As for the romance, Etienne would be about fourteen right now, and Jaime in his thirties. Before you scream "RAPE" or "PERVERSION", women were married (I am not saying they are getting married, it is just a prime fact) at a young age back then. Look at Daenerys and Khal Drogo! Look at the Frey's—Walder married his daughters when they were about Sansa's age. **

**AND—yes, Jaime is a Ser, not a Lord. **

**Please review, and I hope you all give this story a chance. Constructive criticism is always welcome. **


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thank you for the feedback, and criticism—it really helped me out. I'm so happy that you guys already love this story. If I can get to at least ten reviews by the next chapter, I'll include something extra special. **

Chapter 2

Etienne watched her father escort the queen into the Great Hall. The woman gazed around, flashing another fake smile, which even Jon was able to see through. The king gazed at Lady Stark, giving her a warm, contrasting smile to the lovely mother. The corners of her lips rose, and the king took a step forward, lingering behind his new hand and the distasteful queen. The king waddled down the hall, but never ceased to appear prideful, and the entranced guests stared up at him with mixed emotions of amazement, jealousy, and hatred.

A tug on Etienne's sleeve forced her eyes back behind her. Jaime raised his eyebrows, ready to yank her back until his lady began to speak.

"Uncle," she smiled. Jaime glanced at the Stark man, taking note of his piercing, sharp blue eyes. "I did not expect you to come—how has the Night Watch faired?"

Benjen looked down at his short niece, gripping her shoulder. "Now is not the time to speak. I merely wished to make my presence known. I do, however, plan on discussing _important _matters with yourself when there is time."

Etienne nodded. "Of course, Uncle."

His blue orbs ventured over her head. "I believe Ser Jaime is ready to escort you, Niece. Take care."

And without another word, Etienne stood in Winterfell's Great Hall. Tyrion Lannister struggled to remain speed behind her, but he appeared to be just a prided as the king himself. Despite sniggers from guests, he ignored their snide comments of his dwarfism. Jon found his half-sister, yet it was the Kingslayer that truly gained his attention. _This is what a king should look like. _

Benjen and Eddard's ward Theon Greyjoy followed the dwarf. The heat in the hall seemed to increase as Etienne strode towards the large oak table, suited only for a highborn. Etienne was the last of the Stark children to be seated. Once she finally sunk into the plush chair, she rolled her shoulders back, giving her thanks to the serving girl as the food was administrated. She and Robb were served first for being the eldest after the Starks, Baratheons, and Lannisters, so poor Rickon was only left with what remained.

Food in Winterfell was rather bland in comparison to the exotic fruits found in the South. Fruits were a rare sight, and were only ever eaten on special occasions. Even then, the fruits were fried and preserved. The queen wrinkled her petite nose at the slab of meat that had been roasted with mint, bowl of vegetable soup, potato, and pigeon pie set before her. The king did not complain, and had already downed his soup when Rickon was finally served.

The Great Hall was filled with laughter, shouts, and general noise produced from vocal chords, and forks scraping against plates. To the Lannister's and Baratheon children, the wine was just as plain as the food, yet Joffrey was the only offspring to not hold his tongue. Jaime Lannister scarcely touched the food before him, finding the meat too tough, and the pigeon pie too salty. Even the soup had a thin layer of grease clouding the surface. Jaime skimmed around the orange residue, barely swallowing the spoonful of barley, potatoes, and carrots before burning his mouth. He pulled the spoon away from his mouth, and his green eyes suddenly flew back onto the eldest Stark daughter.

A grin plastered onto her face while she conversed with her brother, Robb. Hers was a peculiar smile; Jaime found that she had a small, hardly noticeable gap between her front teeth, but the bottoms of the white pearls merged together. Her blue eyes flashed in excitement, and her auburn hair bounced on her head. A drunken fool stumbled into the table, and Etienne's goblet threatened to topple over. Robb's hand darted out, catching the gold cup. Etienne thanked her brother, accepting the goblet back from him. They both returned to eating, and once after a time gap, their eyes entwined, and they sniggered in silence over a past jest.

Beside them, Sansa hardly touched her food, too distracted with her gaze on Joffrey. The heir to the Iron Throne appeared more bored than his lioness mother. The king's own gaze averted to the youngest Stark daughter, admiring her likeness to Lyanna. Arya plotted with Bran to dump the remainder of her soup in Sansa's lap, and to throw her pigeon pie at Etienne, but the Bran's eyes widened, and he shook his head. Arya pouted, slumping down in her chair, picking at the pie wordlessly.

And after the last bite of food was devoured, the tables were pushed against the walls, and couples stumbled out, twirling and dipping with each other to the sounds of harps and cellos singing together. Eddard and Catelyn watched their children rising, and cavorting in the Great Hall… All but Etienne. The girl sat forward in her seat, listening to her uncle Benjen speak.

"I spoke to Jon just now," he announced. "He wants to return to the Wall with me. I insisted he waited a few years, but he would not hear it."

Etienne frowned. "Why would he leave Winterfell?"

"He claims a bastard has no place here," Benjen sighed, tucking a strand of his dark brown hair behind his ear. "And yet I now find myself with two problems at hand. Jon and yourself."

"Me?" his niece questioned. "Why would I concern you?"

"Etienne, hear me out before you thrust your own words in," Benjen began. "You are barren, this I know. But I believe I have found a solution to your future misery."

"Who said I am destined for a miserable life?" Benjen shook his hand, holding his hand up in the air. "My apologies, Uncle."

"As I was saying, I believe I have found a solution. Your mother and father are unaware—I did not want to give them an idea only to have you turn it down, and to be _forced _into what I have to say. Only then would that ensure true misery… Etienne, would you take it into consideration to marry a lord, a fellow highborn, and have your children born to a surrogate mother?"

"Absolutely _not_," Etienne suddenly spat, raising her voice for the first time in all her life to her uncle. She stood up, and Jaime Lannister inched forward in his chair. "What good does it do to have little _bastards _scampering under my skirts? None. I would _never _accept that offer. If the gods have made the decision that I cannot have children, then so be it. I simply must make better use of my life."

"Etienne—"

And now it was she who held up her hand. "If I cannot have Stark blood in my children, then I shall die without passing down my variation of my family. _What has been done remains._"

She turned on her heel, rubbing the corners of her eyes as tears welled. Another day passed, and yet again the truth of never holding her only flesh and blood in her arms haunted her. She found Robb's discarded fur cape draped over a table, and she snagged it, draping it around her own shoulders. She left the lace necklace in the empty spot, just to ensure Robb did not set a search party over fur. Etienne strode past serving girls, maids, and even her Septa. Yet she seemed transparent to their eyes.

Large oak doors towered before her. Without a moment's hesitation, she pushed open the planks, gasping in the cold, comforting air. She felt like dropping the cloak, and embracing the climate change, but it was not her furs to drop. She stood on the balcony, her tears drying instantly. She leaned over the marble railing peering down at the empty ground below.

"That was not very lady-like of you."

"It was not kind of my uncle to bring up such a harsh fact of my life, Ser Jaime."

"And what was that?" He came to her side, leaning over the marble as well.

Etienne looked at him. "If it please you, I'd rather not discuss it," she murmured.

"It doesn't please me," Jaime said. "Something about being barren?" The Stark girl nodded slowly. "What happened, my lady?"

"Robb and I were riding our horses down to Winter Town," Etienne replied. "My horse had lost her footing in the ice and snow, and bucked me off. She trampled me until Robb got her away. He killed my horse—not on purpose. He was trying to pull her back, and… He carried me back to Winterfell, and Maester Luwin said horrible things. All I really comprehended was when he told my mother and father that I had become barren."

"You're rather open about your past with a stranger," Jaime noted.

"You're no stranger, _Kingslayer,_" she spat. "I know exactly who you are."

Jaime's green eyes darkened. "You know only of the lies you have let lords purge you with, my lady."

Etienne pulled away from the railing, as did Jaime. "As it would please _me_, tell me what you claim the truth of you life is," she challenged.

Jaime shook his head slowly, beaming down at her. He held out his hand, showing the young woman a single blue winter rose. He grabbed her own hand, gently placing the rose in the center of her palm. The stem was just long enough to place in a vase by her end table of her sleeping quarters. The rose was of bright blue like her eyes, and Etienne felt joy creeping up her spine. It was undeniably beautiful. "For you, my lady."

_Lyanna Stark smiled beside Eddard, watching the beautiful silver haired champion as he raced against his opponent on his steed, his violet eyes alive with fury and passion. Barristan Selmy fell from his valiant steed, blood dripping around him. The sword left his hand, and his head collapsed into the dirt as temporary unconsciousness grasped him._

_ "Rhaegar!" the crowds cried. "All hail Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen!"_

_ Lyanna nudged Eddard's shoulder, yet the brother paid no mind. The Tourney at Harrenhal had finally come to an end, and Rhaear Targaryen raised his chin up in the air, letting the sun kiss his face. He basked in the screams and cheers around him. He closed his eyes, opening them only to discover the beautiful Stark girl. _

_ Rhaegar felt a presence. "Crown Prince Rhaegar of House Targaryen," the man beside him proclaimed. "Victor of Joust! Defeater of Lord Yohn Royce. Defeater of Brandon Stark!" Eddard cringed at his brother's name. "Defeater of Ser Arthur Dayne, and now the Defeater of Ser Barristan Selmy."_

_ A small woman presented a crown of blue winter roses, hanging her head and bowing. Rhaegar smirked, tossing his silver hair over his shoulder as the crown was placed in his hand. "Champion!" the man at his side proclaimed._

_ "Champion!" the crowd mimicked, rising to their feet. The sound of uneven claps sounded like thunder in the distance, but the roar of a mighty dragon to Rhaegar. _

_ "You know what you must do," the man told Rhaegar. The prince nodded._

_ "A crown of winter roses," Rhaegar told the crowd, his voice rich. Lyanna shuddered. "A crown for a queen of love and beauty. But who among you is worthy of such title?" He looked straight into Lyanna's gray eyes. "Who shall I crown as my queen?"_

_ Most of the women swooned, and the crowd returned to their perches. Rhaegar began his trek to the Stark woman, and Eddard panicked, tugging at his sister's arm before the prince arrived… But alas, it was too late. _

_ Rhaegar smirked, placing the crown in Lyanna's lap. The woman blushed, and he clasped her hand. "My queen of love and beauty."_

_ He lips brushed against her soft, pale cheek, and Lyanna grinned, placing the crown atop her head at the champion's request. The crowd cheered, and the women glared. Eddard's eyes became slits as he examined the Targaryen prince. "My thanks, my prince," Lyanna said. Rhaegar nodded, and turned on his horse. _

"A queen of love and beauty," Jaime echoed. Etienne removed her hand from his grasp. He watched her depart, a smug expression plaguing his face.

"I thank you, Ser Jaime," Etienne suddenly told him before re-entering the castle. "But I am no queen, nor am I beautiful. I believe this was meant for Sansa."

**AN: Well, all I can say about the flashback is that I believe Lyanna and Rhaegar loved each other, and Jon Snow is their child, hence the way Lyanna reacted towards Rhaegar… Don't forget to review, and constructive criticism is always welcome. To Guest, I hope the dialogue is less fancy, and more realistic to the actual premise of ASoIaF. **

**Don't forget to review! Remember—ten is the magic number. **


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: We did it—ten reviews, and as promised, special Jaime interactions this chapter. I'd like to thank Guest, KrazyKeke, Branzo, guest, Hand of the Alex, Soaring Hawk1, Danielle, BewaretheDanisaur, and KatieGG for reviewing so far.**

Chapter 3

"Wake up, my lady."

The smell of toasted bread and porridge jostled the eldest Stark daughter from her slumber. Ana stretched beside her, her fur bristling at the sight of the strange serving girl. As the direwolf yapped, Etienne sat up, pulling her wolf away before she could leap. The girl before her shuddered, and cleared her throat.

"The king and queen have requested to break their fasts with Lord and Lady Stark," she said. "_Alone. _Lady Stark has ordered that you and your siblings break in your quarters." She set the tray down in front of her, and handed Etienne a rolled paper—her schedule for the day. "Would you like me to fill your tub, my lady?"

"Yes," she told her. "That would do nicely."

Bowing, the serving girl turned to take her leave. "My lady?"

"Yes?"

"That flower," she began, jagging her finger at the blue winter rose. "Your aunt was fond of those . . . Good day, my lady."

Etienne looked up at her with a mouthful of bread, raising her brow. The girl vanished, and the sound of running water entered the room. Ana yapped again, and Etienne tossed her slice of bread at her, watching the wolf tear it apart. Etienne ate the remainder of her food, reaching her frail fingers out to touch the pedals of the blue rose. _A queen of love and beauty._

She rolled the schedule out on her bed, examining the small, neat writing crafted by the hands of Septa Mordane. After bathing, the septa yearned for her presence with her sisters and the princess. And after, her father wished to speak to her. The serving girl returned, gathering the Stark daughter's tray, while watching Ana with skeptics. "Your bath has been drawn, my lady. Shall I set out dressings, my lady?"

_My lady . . . My lady . . . My lady. _Etienne nodded, giving the girl a warm smile. Ana followed her master out of the quarters, stepping on her ankles in the bathing house. Two women awaited Etienne, peeling off her robes and under clothing. The tallest woman ran a wooden comb through her auburn tresses, and the second took the girl's hand, picking out the thin layer of dirt beneath her nails. It made the girl cringe at the sight of dirt. The same was done to her other hand, and the serving girl clipped at her nails, shaping them to perfection.

Etienne was in the water before she could usher Ana out. The tallest woman gestured the wolf away, but she remained, making a bed out of Etienne's robe. She looked up at her master with large blue eyes. Etienne closed her own as fingers threaded through her hair, working in scentless soaps. She felt a large smooth stone rubbing up against her skin, and soon to be replaced with more soap.

The serving women demanded she stand up. Once she gained stance, a bucket of fresh, warm water was poured over her, sloshing onto the ground. Goosebumps pimpled over her skin. The serving girls lathered oils into her skin and hair. And then she was away from the water, covered head to toe in perfumes. She was pulled into her underclothing, and her corset was tightened to the utmost extreme. But the feeling was one of support, and made Etienne feel truly noble. Standing in her green dress, laces were looped at tightened.

Her hair was tugged at until satisfied, snaking around the back of her skull. Her eyebrows were plucked, her cheeks pinched to the color of red roses, and her feet clad in silver slippers. The serving women bowed once more. Etienne set out for her sisters and the princess, Ana in tow.

The wolf skipped along, her perfectly combed fur remaining in place. Etienne stopped at the winding staircase leading to the septa's desired meeting place. She pulled her skirts up, climbing up with her wolf. Her shoes made soft patters along the steps. Thin windows allowed beams of light in the dark corridor. Ana suddenly leaped forward, crashing into her master's legs. Etienne tumbled over, barely bracing herself for the fall before a hand abruptly latched onto hers, bracing the stumble for her.

She stood up, pulling from the hand. "Thank you . . ." The arm lugged her back. "Ser Jaime."

"Lady Etienne," he nodded, his emerald eyes lighting up.

His hand vanished, yet the Stark daughter froze in place. "How has your visit to Winterfell been so far?"

"Well enough," Jaime told her.

"You're lying. You hate it here."

Jaime's head inclined forward. "So do you," he insisted.

"That is insane," she argued. "Winterfell is my home. How could I despise living here?"

"You think little orphan girls enjoy living on the streets, getting raped every night and forced to eat rats from the gutters?" he asked. "Those very streets are their homes, yet what love could they possible foster for cold wet nights, no virtue, and rats. Not all are as graced as we, my lady."

_My lady. _"I am shocked, Ser Jaime . . . To hear you think of the less fortunate as equals surprises me."

"No, my lady. I would never consider them more than the rats they eat."

Etienne leaned up against the wall. "Why wouldn't I like living in Winterfell?"

"You're changing the matter at hand, my lady," Jaime observed.

"I simply have no desire to waste my time speaking of filthy beggars."

Jaime grasped her arm again, towering over her. He looked down at her, leering. "You're spiteful towards vagrants as well, I see. We're kindred spirits, you and I. You're just like me."

Etienne scowled, detaching herself. "I am _nothing _like you," she spat.

"Maybe, my lady," Jaime called after the young woman as she set forth up the stairs. "As I told you yesterday, you are to blinded by lies . . . Tell me; how soon after I gifted you that rose did you burn it?"

"I didn't," Etienne replied. "But perhaps I shall. Maybe when it begins to wilt like snow, I will."

"You can preserve beauty, my lady. It could even be done for you," Jaime insisted.

"Save your flirts for someone willing to led their ear and faint for you," she said. "I have no desire for passing out and having you catch me."

"You can't have children. That's the only reason why you won't."

"And _you _swore an oath to the Kingsguard."

"Promises were meant to be broken," Jaime shrugged.

Etienne scoffed. "And I thought you had honor."

Jaime scowled, slipping down the stairs, opposite of the young woman. The Stark daughter trekked up the marble slabs, watching her wolf with a suspicious eye as she leaped up the stairs. The sound of laughter reached her ears, and she entered the room, taking the empty seat in between Sansa and Princess Myrcella. "Lady Etienne," Septa Mordane announced. "You're late."

"My apologies," she said. "Ser Jaime wished to speak with me. But I am here now."

The septa placed a delicate array of threads before her. "Princess Myrcella has requested that the six of you spend your time cross-stitching." _Six? _Etienne looked around, spotting Jeyne Poole looming over Sansa, and Beth Cassel perched at Sansa's feet, already working away at stitching what appeared to be a black blob. Etienne sniggered, and the septa handed her a blank canvas.

"What are you going to make?" the princess asked the eldest daughter.

"I do not know," she sighed. "Perhaps a direwolf."

"I think I'll make a stag, then," Myrcella insisted. "Or perhaps a lion for Mother."

"I am sure the queen would be pleased." At the thought of the queen, Etienne's mind lingered to the memory of Jaime, and the blue winter rose he gifted her. "I think I'll make a blue winter rose, actually."

"Why not a red one?" Myrcella questioned. "Why blue?"

"Well, my princess," she said as she began the first blue stitch. "We do not have red roses in Winterfell."

"You should see the gardens in Kings Landing," he princess told her. "There are even yellow roses."

"Perhaps one day I might see one, my princess."

Sansa began chatting away with Beth and Jeyne. The eldest Stark daughter continued working, and Myrcella began the outline of a stag entwined with a golden lion. "What are you talking about?"

All eyes flew to Arya. Her stitching was a mess, and Etienne laughed quietly. Jeyne giggled as well. Sansa and Beth hid their eyes. No one answered. "Tell me," Arya demanded.

"We were talking about the prince," Sansa said.

"Joffrey likes Sansa," Jeyne told the youngest daughter in a hushed voice. "He told her that she was very beautiful."

"He's going to marry her," Beth announced "Then Sansa will be queen of all the realm."

Etienne felt a pang of jealousy swarming in her gut. Joffrey was handsome, that much was true. And he was the heir to the Iron Throne. She would swoon for him, but never his uncle. If Joffrey had been the one to catch her, she might have felt better. After all, she was his betrothal first. And for the first time, she was angry with Robb for what he had done. She wished he had just let the horse kill her.

"Beth, you shouldn't make up stories," Sansa blushed, her voice soft like her skin. Etienne went back to stitching. "What did you think of Prince Joff, Arya? He's very gallant, don't you think?"

"Jon says he looks like a girl," Arya said.

"And you look like an ugly boy," Etienne shot back. The other girls laughed. Arya turned as red as blood.

Sansa grinned. "Poor Jon. He gets jealous because he is a bastard."

"He is our brother!" Arya shouted.

"What are you talking about, children?" Septa Mordane asked, her voice cutting in like a knife.

Sansa grasped Etienne's hand, and they both looked at their younger sister. "He is our _half _brother. My sister's and I were remarking on how pleased we were to have the princess with us today," she said to both Arya and Septa Mordane. Etienne nodded, snaking more thread through the canvas.

"Indeed," Septa Mordane agreed. "A great honor for all . . . Arya, why aren't you at work. Let me see your stitches."

"Here," she sighed, thrusting the canvas at Septa Mordane.

She _tsk_ed, shaking her head. "Arya, Arya, Arya . . . This will not do. This will not do at all."

Neither sisters smirked, or the princess. Before, it had been a matter of insolence, but now it was pure pity. Yet that did not stop Jeyne or Beth from cackling, throwing their heads back as the girl began to cry, and darted from the room. "Arya! Come back here. Don't you take another step! Your lady mother will hear of this. In front of the royal princess too! _You'll shame us all!_'

But the girl was already gone. The septa glared at the doorway, and yanked Jeyne and Beth to their feet, shoving them out of the room. The highborn daughters remained silent, listening at the girls being chastised. Etienne cleared her throat, and ordered the others to return to stitching. Jeyne and Beth returned bitterly, sitting by the window alone with their stitching. The septa sat down, picking up a canvas herself. Once she was done, Etienne admired her canvas, which had been entirely covered in blue thread, and patterns to construct a large rose. Standing up, she handed the septa her completed work.

"Beautiful," Septa Mordane said. "Absolutely beautiful. I only wish Arya could be as good as you." She lowered her voice, pressing against Etienne's ear. "Your work is far better than Sansa's as well, my lady."

"My thanks, Septa," Etienne said. The septa gave her the work back, ushering the young woman to sit back down. Soon, Sansa also finished, and the two sisters left the princess to her chat with the septa. The daughters placed their work in their quarters, and Sansa strolled down to the courtyard. Etienne set out for her father.

She knocked on his door. "Come in." Sliding the oak forward, she watched him examine a map. "Sit down, Etienne."

She took a seat by fireplace. Her father slid over, settling across from her. "You wanted to see me," his daughter said. Eddard nodded.

"Have you heard the news?"

"About becoming the Hand?" Etienne asked. "Yes—Sansa told me last night. Congratulations, Father."

"Then you know I must go to King's Landing," Eddard said. "Your sisters—Sansa and Arya . . . They are coming with for Sansa to marry Joffrey, and Arya to Tommen. Bran is coming as well to find him a bride. Perhaps I can find a ward for him. Etienne, it is entirely your choice, and only yours. I am giving you the opportunity to come with."

"No," Etienne declined. "I have no reason to leave, as I cannot marry."

"That does not mean you cannot come," Eddard argued.

"And yet I am still saying no, Father," his daughter said. "I wish to stay here in Winterfell."

"What will you do with your life?" her father challenged. "You cannot stay here forever."

"Septa Mordane said she would teach me the ways of a septa," she said. "I wish to become the septa to Robb's daughters."

"And if he does not have daughters?"

Etienne took in a sharp breath. "Robb and I are closer than you and Mother ever were. He would never send me out on my own. I am staying here with Mother and Robb and Rickon."

XXX

"I cannot believe what Arya did," Sansa grumbled beside her sister in the courtyard.

"The nerve . . ." Etienne agreed. "Septa Mordane has been so patient with her, and Arya just storms out. I do not know how the septa can do it."

"And the way she spoke ill of my love!"

_He was my love first. _"She is a nasty child. How could Mother and Father birth such a girl?"

"I wish she were a boy," Sansa said, sitting down on a cold, stone bench. Etienne joined her.

"I wish she were never born," the eldest daughter admitted. "Princess Myrcella and I were getting along so well, and then Arya made such fit. Now the princess finds us fools, no doubt."

Sansa sighed, adjusting her auburn braid. "How could she be so ugly, but we're so pretty?"

The wave of shock left Etienne stunned. "You think I am pretty?" she asked.

Sansa nodded. "You look so much like Mother, and look at how beautiful she is. Father has donated to you what makes her sharp features soft on you, but that's what makes you unique. You're prettier than the queen, Sister."

"Robb said the almost same exact thing to me last night," Etienne said.

"He told me. Sister, you may not be able to have children, but something good will still come." _Like the winter. _"Father and Robb are currently on a hunt with the king and Joffrey. Uncle is with them, and even the queen's brother."

"Ser Jaime?" Etienne asked. Sansa shook her head.

"Lord Tyrion is going," the middle daughter said. "Jory and Theon are with."

"But not Jon?"

"He was forbidden . . ." Sansa's voice trailed off. "Etienne," she began, clasping her older sister's hand. "There have been rumors around the castle that Jon is not our father's son."

Etienne's eyes widened. "Then who?"

"_Rhaegar Targaryen,_" Sansa whispered. "They say that Jon has bits of Targaryen madness about him. They also say that Aunt Lyanna is his mother."

"That is impossible!" Sansa winced. "Any bastard would be crazy for the simplicity of not knowing a parent. Father would have said something, and why claim his nephew as a son?"

"I heard it was so the king did not kill Jon when he went on his warpath to eradicate all Targaryen blood," Sansa continued. "You know how Lyanna died, and where she was. What if the rumors are true?"

"Then we say nothing to the king," Etienne shrugged.

"But that is treason!"

A crow cried suddenly, flying away from the tallest tower of the castle. More crows cried, darting down towards the bottom. Ana chased the birds, barking. "What's going on?" Etienne asked, already taking off. Sansa followed after her running sister, stomping on grass. Suddenly, the eldest daughter froze, and Sansa stepped forward. The girl gasped, shrieking. Etienne fell to her knees towards what appeared to be a body. She rolled the body over as Sansa continued to scream. In the distance, a wolf howled.

"_Bran!_"

**AN: Dun dun Duun! Bran has fallen! About the whole Lyanna/Rhaegar thing, I am not saying that Jon is their child, that's just what I personally believe. And in the story, it's just a rumor. Don't forget to review—the more I get, the more interactions we get between our lovers.  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Lots of intense content in this chapter, so be warned. I would like to thank BewaretheDanisaur, 5sunday5, anonymous, and Hand of Alex for reviewing, and all of you who followed, faved, or read. **

Chapter 4

Jon ran a calloused hand over his tunic, his eyes taking in his last glance of Winterfell's Great Hall, where only days ago he had sat among the common folk, feeding Ghost chicken bones under the table. Ghost wondered off, ducking in and out of tables. Jon smiled, calling for his wolf. Only it was not his voice he heard.

"Jon," Etienne beckoned from behind. He turned to face her. "I wished to speak to you, if it wouldn't trouble you."

Her half-brother nodded, bowing stiffly. "My lady—"

"_Sister,_" she corrected, taking a step towards him. "I do not give a damn about the lack of Tully blood in you." _Or the rumors of your parentage_. "I am your sister—Stark blood streams through us both."

"Sister," Jon corrected. "What did you need?"

"Not me, it is a matter of you." Etienne sat down at one of the great oak tables, and he perched beside her. "I heard of what my mother said to you, about Bran and wishing you ill . . . I wanted to apologize for everything. I am so sorry that my mother has shown you nothing but angst your entire life. You have lived all of your days without a mother's love, yet here you are. I am sorry for no longer being as close of a sister as I should.

"You remember when it was just Robb, yourself, and I? Before Sansa was even conceived. We used to play with swords in the courtyard, and Father would watch us. I used to look up to you more than Robb. But once Sansa was born, my mother tore me from you to be a proper lady for Sansa. I did my duty—something she always said I should . . . I forgot about you, and how close we were. I forgot about how much I loved you, Brother. Mother only allowed me to speak to Robb, while you lurked in the shadows. I lost any liking for playing with wooden sticks, and all I desired was making sure my sewing was more than adequate.

"Brother, I wanted to apologize on my behalf for what I have done, and not just my mother. When the window had been opened for me to flee back to the old days, Arya was born. And I hated her for being a girl—I still do. And then I had to teach her to be proper, and for what? She got to do what I used to, and I hated her for that . . . Brother, I wish you the best of luck as a member of the Night's Watch, and always remember that I love you."

Jon offered her a sad smile, which in return she mirrored. Eddard watched his children embrace from the door, the corners of his mouth lifting. Etienne pulled away. "Take care of yourself," Jon said. "You and Robb both—be there for Bran and Rickon."

"Of course," his half-sister said. "Keep Uncle Benjen in line, will you?"

Jon laughed before standing up, departing from the Great Hall forever . . .

Two weeks passed since the day Bran fell from the tower. A day and one week passed since the day Eddard took his youngest daughter's to King's Landing, and Jon departed for the Night's Watch. Robb paced around his bedchambers, Grey Wind watching him affectionately. Etienne tended to his fires, and her brother's shadow danced along the walls. Rickon slept before the flames. "Mother has been with Bran for over a week now," Robb said, stopping to confront his sister. "She hasn't eaten or slept."

"Maester Luwin says she has," Etienne insisted, coming to Robb's side. However, he picked out the lie instantly. "Mother knows what she is doing—she is nothing but worried for her child."

"And what about _us?_" he spat. "We are as much her blood than he is."

"But we are both adults," his sister said, calmly. She grasped Robb's arm, and he looked down at her. "Bran needs her more than we ever have. What we should be doing is keeping Winterfell in order."

"_I _would be the one doing that," Robb contradicted. "You have plans to be septa of Winterfell, not the ruler."

"Yet for now, you and I need to keep everything under control."

Robb sighed. "I am going to see Mother, but first, you can find me outside should you require my assistance."

Etienne tightened her grip as he began to pull away. "Meet me in the Great Hall," she said. "I am going with you."

Cooped up in Bran's sickroom, Catelyn hung over her son, gingerly stroking his hair like he was a soft kitten. "It is past time that we reviewed the figures, my lady," Maester Luwin said from behind. "You'll want to know how much the royal visit cost us."

Catelyn's voice was dry and raspy when she spoke, "I have no need to look at figures, Maester Luwin. I know what the visit cost us. Take the books away . . ."

"My lady," Maester sighed. "The king's party had _healthy _appetites. We must replenish our stores before—"

"I said to take them away!" Catelyn growled, her fingers curling in Bran's dark auburn hair. "The steward will attend to our needs."

Maester Luwin cleared his throat. "We _have _no steward. Poole went south to establish Lord Eddard's household in King's Landing."

"Oh . . . Yes, I remember."

Maester Luwin sat down beside Catelyn. "There are several appointments that require your immediate attention, my lady. Besides the steward, we need a captain of the guards to fill Jory's place, a new master of horse—"

"_A master of horse?_" Catelyn demanded, scoffing.

"Yes, my lady," Maester stuttered. "Hullen rode south with Lord Eddard, so—"

"My son lies here broken and dying, Luwin, and you wish to discuss a new master of horse! _Do you think I care what happens in the stables? _Do you think it matters to me one whit? I would gladly butcher every horse in Winterfell with my own hands if it would open Bran's eyes, do you understand that? _Do you!_"

"Yes, my lady, but the appointments—"

"_We'll make the appointments_."

Catelyn and Luwin both turned towards the eldest Stark children. Their rosy faces shivered, almost the color of their hair from standing in the sudden snow dusting. "My lord, my lady," Maester Luwin bowed slightly from his seat. "I have prepared a list of those we might wish to consider for the vacant offices," he told the young adults. Luwin produced the rolled parchment, handing it to the eldest.

"Good men," Robb noted as he read the list. "We'll talk about them tomorrow."

"Very good, my lord."

"Leave us now," the son ordered. Luwin nodded, departing quickly. Robb and Etienne filed around Catelyn. "Mother, what are you doing?"

Catelyn looked her children down, picking out their Tully aspects. "What am I doing? How can you ask that? What do you imagine I am doing! I am taking care of your brother. I am taking care of Bran."

"Is that what you call it?" her son demanded. "You haven't left this room since Bran was hurt. You didn't even come to the gate when Father and the younger girls went south."

"I said my farewells from them here, and watched them from that window."

"He's not going to die, Mother. Maester Luwin says the time of greatest danger has passed."

"And what if Maester Luwin is wrong? What if Bran needs me and I'm not here?"

"_Rickon needs you!_" Robb argued. "He's only three, and doesn't understand what's happening. He thinks everyone has deserted him, so he follows Etienne and I around all day, clutching our legs and crying. I don't know what to do with him . . . Mother, _I _need you too—not just Bran, _all _of us. I'm trying but I can't . . . Sister and I can't do it all by ourselves."

Outside of the castle walls, Bran's direwolf began to sing in the night. Catelyn tensed.

"That's Bran's," Etienne told her.

Robb nodded. "Bran's." He slid the window open, allowing the cold air in the room. The volume climbed.

"Don't," Catelyn begged. "Bran needs to stay warm."

"He needs to hear them sing. Shaggydog and Grey Wind and Ana. You can tell them apart if you listen."

It was true—all the male direwolves sung low, yet they differentiated. Ana's pitch escalated over the rest, sounding clear and crisp, just like her owner's own songs produced from her vocal chords. "_Make them stop!_" Catelyn screamed. "I can't take it, make them stop. _Make them stop! _Kill them all if you must, just make them stop."

Robb cradled his fallen mother in his arms. Etienne fell to her side, clasping her frail hands. "Close your eyes," Robb whispered. "Rest. Maester Luwin tells me you've hardly slept since Bran's fall."

"I can't," Catelyn told him. "Gods forgive me, Robb. I can't—what if he dies while I'm asleep. What if he dies? What if . . . Oh gods, close the window!"

"If you swear to me you'll sleep," Robb said. He shut the windows, but stopped as the howling became even louder than before if possible. "Dogs," he said. "All the dogs are barking. They've never done that before . . ." Robb's breath hitched in his throat. Etienne flew to the window.

"_Fire,_" they both whispered.

Catelyn stood by her comatose son. "Help me," she began. "Help me with Bran."

"The library tower is on fire," Robb announced. Orange flames danced in the sky.

"Thank the gods," Catelyn smiled.

Robb turned towards her, stunned. "Mother, Sister. Stay here I'll come back as soon as the fire is out." He vanished, darting from the room.

"Rickon is sleeping in Robb's quarters," Etienne told her mother. "I am going to make sure he is safe. Please, heed what Robb said and stay here."

Catelyn nodded slowly, approaching the window. She watched men darting across the bailey and to the flaming tower. She pulled away from the glass just when Etienne slumped to the floor, blood running from her forehead. Catelyn took a step back, and the man held the bloody dagger before him.

"You weren't s'posed to be here," he spat. "_No one _was s'posed to be here."

The small, gritty man bore greasy hair from in between his eyes. Catelyn's eyes flew to her crawling, bleeding daughter. "No," the mother cried. "Not my children—not my son!"

"It's a mercy," the man said. "He's dead already."

"No. No, you can't—Etienne, _run!_"

The man was upon the mother before she can muster another word. Catelyn dove for the dagger, screaming as it sliced through her fingers when it went for her throat. Blood splattered. His hand slapped across her face with a violent sting. More crimson filled Catelyn's mouth, and she gasped for air, spitting vile liquid out.

Suddenly, the man began to thrash wildly as a shadow leaped on him, teeth digging into his throat, and a knife protruded from his chest. Blood sprayed on Catelyn's face and the walls like water. The man became still. Bran's direwolf lapped up the blood. The knife jerked downwards, spilling entrails on the floor. Etienne stood above the dead man, holding the bloody blade, gazing down in shock, while fresh blood continued to slide down her face. She admired her handiwork. She kept hold of the dagger as though blood made it a part of her skin. Bran's direwolf curled into Catelyn's side, licking at her wounds.

The drenched woman's jaw dropped open during the process of utter shock. She began to laugh hysterically. The direwolf dove onto the bed, rocking Bran back and forth. She watched her daughter collapsing onto her knees, sobbing into her hands until cries became cackles. She yanked entrails out of the assassin, throwing them on the wood flooring. Hacking and slashing at the corpse's stomach until it became nothing but black mush was the only thing that could even begin to cloud her mind. Blood climbed up Etienne's sleeves, staining the fabric.

But she did not care. Blood covered her face, giving her the look of a wildling.

But she did not care.

The door barged open. Robb rushed in with several men, and the eldest Stark child gasped. Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik escorted Catelyn from the room, while several guards tried removed the dead body. Etienne lunged at them, swinging the curved blade with an animal-like growl. The men backed up, leaving Robb to step forward.

"Etienne," Robb called out. "Stop this."

The girl blocked out all sounds. Her long fingers wrapped around the man's ribcage. Her fingers stilled, and her laughter died off. Her fingers ran up and down the torso of the corpse. Robb latched onto her arms, forcing her away from the dead man. Etienne screamed, thrashing blindly in the air. Suddenly, she stopped, her eyes widening. Hyperventilating claimed her. Robb's grip slacked, and his sister buried her face in his chest, sobbing like a young child. _We're kindred spirits, you and. You're just like me._

"I killed a man," she whispered. Robb pulled her into a chair, prying the blade away. "I ripped him apart . . .

"Bran's direwolf killed him, Sister," he insisted.

"That direwolf hardly nicked his throat." She shook her head. "But I _stabbed _him and mutilated him . . . And I liked it. When he stood above Mother, ready to slice her throat open, I felt angry—angry about _everything. _I didn't feel remorse, only happiness. All my life, Mother taught me to behave proper. She never told me that I would ever do something like this . . . I liked the feel of a blade in my hand again, and I fed off of that man's pain and death."

"Sister—"

Etienne slapped his approaching hand away. "I should have gone to King's Landing with Father," she told him. "I should have gone with him and Sansa and Arya . . . But I didn't want that."

"Etienne," Robb said. "You must not speak of what you have done. Everyone will page you mad, and take you away from Winterfell."

"I don't want to leave.

"And I will never let you, unless you choose to," Robb promised. "I will never let anyone take you away. But what you have done . . . Promise me that you will _never _do that again."

Etienne frowned. "Robb—"

"Promise me."

His sister rubbed her eyes with her bloody hands. "I promise."

**AN: Quite a chapter, aye? Such emotional tugging! I hope this chapter was satisfactory for you all, and I'm looking forward to the feedback. Don't forget to review—**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: I'd like to thank Insert Name Here, Hand of the Alex, BewaretheDanisaur and DoingTheWormwood for reviewing, and everyone who followed, faved, or read. My goal for the next chapter is to reach 25-30 reviews. Feedback is greatly appreciated. **

Chapter 5

Hot steam rose from the surface of the water, collecting on the stone ceiling. The serving girl hung her head, never facing the crazed Stark daughter. Word spread fast in Winterfell, despite what lies Robb had fed her. The serving girl ran the rock lightly against her lady's stained arm, catching a brief glimpse of the flaking blood and clotted cut across her pale forehead. Ana roamed the room, and the serving girl shivered each time her tail touched her skirts.

"You should have cleaned last night, my lady," the girl said. "Before your skin turned like this. It has been four days since you last bathed, and with that nasty gash—" Etienne's fingers snaked around the wrist, squeezing it tightly when the shaking head moved towards the wound. "My lady, please let go."

The eldest serving girl _tsk_ed, smoothing out a light blue dress on its rack, and held the matching pearl hair clip in the light. She muttered under her breath, and Etienne let go of the woman, standing up before the young girl could back up as water splashed onto her. "Get out," Etienne growled, jabbing her finger to the door. "Both of you."

"I take orders from _Lady Stark_, not her mad daughter." The eldest woman gasped in pain, feeling the phantom numbness of Etienne's fingernails. Fresh blood surfaced, and she staggered back.

"Get out!" she screamed, dripping water onto the floor. Ana growled, prepared to pounce. "_Now!_"

The youngest scrambled towards the door, dragging the elder with her. The door slammed shut, sending a rattling echo throughout the room. Etienne crawled back into the tub, and Ana padded over to the edge, allowing her master to rub the direwolf's head.

After nearly scrubbing her skin off of her frame, Etienne dressed in the continuing silence. She stood before the cloudy, full-length mirror, smoothing down her tartan dress. After buttoning the dark blue jacket, she brushed out her hair, and departed from the bathing house, her shoes clacking off of the flooring.

Inside of her bedchambers, the blue rose sat alone, already beginning to wither away. Etienne touched it gently, taking the vase over to the fire. Sitting on the wooden chair before the blazing flames, she thought of the previous night's fire on the library tower . . . And then she thought of the assassin sent to kill Bran in his slumber. She could still feel his blood and intestines on her hands, and under her fingernails. She shuddered, looking back down at the rose to stroke it again. A light blue petal fell to the floor, scurrying across the floor to be sucked into the fire.

_We're kindred spirits, you and I. You're just like me. _

She found herself repeating the same words Jaime had said to her. It felt foreign to her while it poured out from her body. Sighing, she watched the petal burst into a tiny flame, and she narrowed her eyes, leaning forward in her chair. She pulled the rose from the vase, holding it above the flickering fires. The rose was dying, and she felt sympathy for it in its dying state. But as Jaime had told her, beauty can be preserved.

She placed the rose back into the vase just as a knock came from the oak doors. "Come in."

Theon stood in the doorway. "Robb is holding a council, and requires your attendance," he said.

"Why?" she asked. "He specifically told me last night that he had no need of me."

"Robb has been tired," Theon insisted. "Just come break your fast with us."

Robb and Rodrik Cassel had already taken their seats at the stone table when Theon escorted Etienne to the room, pushing in her chair for the younger spawn of man. It was last, the new captain of the guard who arrived, sparking great interest from Catelyn. She raised her eyebrows as she bit into her bread, and he took his seat. Catelyn cleared her throat, asking, "Who was that man whom attacked?"

"No one knows his name," Hallis shrugged. "He was not man of Winterfell, m'lady. But, some says they seen him here and about the castle these past few weeks."

"One of the king's men, then. Or one of the Lannisters'. He could have waited behind when the others left."

"Maybe—with all these strangers filling up Winterfell of late, there's no way of saying who he belonged to."

Theon cleared his throat. "He's been hiding in your stables," he said. "You could _smell _it on him."

"And how could he go unnoticed?" Catelyn hissed.

"Between the horses Lord Eddard took south and then we sent north to the Night's Watch, the stalls were half-empty. It were a great trick to hide from the stableboys. Could be Hodor saw him, the talk is that boy's been acting queer, but simple as he is."

"We found where he had been sleeping," Robb announced. "He had ninety silver stags in a leather bag buried beneath the straw."

"It's good to know my son's life was not sold cheaply," his mother scoffed.

"B-begging your grace, m'lady," Hallis said. "You're saying he was out to kill your boy?"

"That's madness," Theon agreed.

"He came for Bran and attacked my daughter," Catelyn told him. "He kept muttering how I wasn't supposed to be there. He set the library fire thinking I would rush to put it out, taking any guards with me. If I hadn't been half-mad with grief, it would have worked."

"Why would anyone want to kill Bran," Robb inquired. "Gods. He's only a little boy. Helpless, sleeping . . ."

"If you are to rule in the north, you _must_ _think _these things through, Robb. Answer your own question. Why would anyone want to kill a sleeping child?" Maester Luwin entered, following the train of approaching foods. "How is my son, Maester?"

Luwin sighed. "Unchanged, my lady."

The servants left, and Catelyn turned towards her children. "Do you have the answer yet?"

Robb nodded. "Someone is afraid Bran might wake up," he told her. "They're afraid of what he might say or do, afraid of something he knows."

"Good," she said. "Hallis, we must keep Bran safe. If there was one killer, there could be others."

"How many guards, m'lady?" he asked.

"So long as Lord Eddard is away, my son is the master of Winterfell."

Robb straightened in his chair. "Put one man in the sickroom, night and day, one outside the door, two at the bottom of the stairs. No one sees Bran without my warrant or my mother and sister's."

"As you say, m'lord."

"Do it now," Catelyn urged.

"And let the wolf stay in the room with him," Robb said. Hallis left, and soon fingers flew directly at Jaime Lannister. No one opposed, save Etienne, yet she dare not defend a man she hardly knew.

Maester Luwin grasped onto the arms of the chair. "All we have is conjecture," he said. "This is the queen's beloved brother we mean to accuse—she will not take it kindly. We must have proof, or forever keep silent."

"Your proof is in the dagger," Ser Rodrik said. "A fine blade like that will not have gone unnoticed."

Catelyn's eyes widened. "Someone must go to King's Landing."

"I'll go," Robb told her.

"No. Your place is here." She eyed the crowd, searching for a likely candidate.

"It is obvious you care more for Robb and the others than you do me," Etienne sighed. "I shall go."

"How could you even begin to think that?" Catelyn gasped. "I will _not _risk my children's lives, especially yours. I must go myself."

"Is that wise, my lady?" Luwin asked. "Surely the Lannister's would great your arrival with suspicion."

"What about Bran?" Robb demanded. "You cannot mean to leave him."

"And Rickon?" his sister questioned.

Catelyn stood taller in her chair. "I have done everything I can for Bran. His life is in the hands of the gods and Maester Luwin. As you have reminded me yourself, Robb, I have other children to think of now."

"You will need a strong escort, my lady," Theon said.

Robb nodded. "I will send Hal and a squad of guardsmen.

"No," his mother told him. "A large party attracts unwelcomed attention. I would not have the Lannister's know I am coming."

"My lady, allow me to accompany you," Rodrik offered. "The kingsroad can be perilous for a woman alone."

Catelyn waved her hand. "I will not be taking the kingsroad. Two riders can move as fast as one, and a great deal faster than a large column of burdened by wagons and wheel houses. I will welcome your company, Ser Rodrik. We will follow the White Knife down to the sea, and hire a ship at White Harbor. Strong horses and brisk winds should bring us to King's Landing well ahead of Ned and the Lannister's."

XXX

Catelyn embraced her eldest children as harsh winds nipped at their flesh. Robb towered over her, but that did not stop her. She handed Etienne a small, wrapped parcel, waiting eagerly for her to open it. Once she did, she held up the silver chain in the air, admiring the circular pendent with the Stark family crest carved onto the front. The necklace had begun to tarnish at the chain, but it was still beautiful.

"It was a gift to me from your uncle Brandon," Catelyn said with a sad smile. "I wore it until his demise, but even after that your father had showered me with other gifts of his love. Brandon would have admired you, and I want you to keep this close. Should something happen to me, I wish for you to have something to hold onto."

"Thank you, Mother," she said, fastening it to her neck. "Safe travels."

Catelyn bent down to Rickon, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Obey your brother and sister," she said. "I love you."

Rickon frowned. Catelyn climbed atop her horse, departing swiftly with Rodrik. Robb returned to the castle, and soon, so did everyone else. Etienne remained in place until her feet carried her to the door. Rickon did not move, and his sister approached him.

"Rickon, cone," she beckoned, grasping his shoulder. "You must—"

Searing, blinding pain filled her body as Rickon sunk his teeth into Etienne's wrist, tearing the skin instantly. Blood filled his mouth, and began to seep out. Etienne brought her other hand back, backhanding the boy. Rickon growled, sinking his teeth in deeper. Once again he felt her hand lash his face, and finally he let go.

Etienne grasped her wrist, and Rickon held onto the swelling bruise on his face. His sister pulled her hand back, ready to let her hand fly again when a blur of black fur bounded towards her, tackling to the ground. She let out a cry, and Shaggydog flashed his teeth. Suddenly, the wolf fell from the bounding force of Ana and Grey Wind slamming into the beast. Etienne scrambled to her feet, latching onto Rickon's tunic.

"Call Shaggy off," she spat. "Call him off right now, or I shall strike you again!"

Rickon did nothing. It was only then when Etienne raised her hand did her yank away from her, frantically yelling at Shaggydog.

"Shaggy!" he cried. "_Down._"

The black wolf snarled, backing away from his siblings. Rickon ran off, and Shaggy followed.

Robb drummed his pale fingers on the oak table, perched on his father's seat. Hours had passed from his mother's departure. Across from him, his mother's chair remained vacant. The candles placed on the table flickered in the slight breeze, killing the tiny fire of the candle closest to him. Robb placed the wick against another candle, setting the relit stick of wax back down. The door swung open, and two guards bowed before Robb, making way for his lady sister.

Her gray skirts ruffled as she approached the table, and Robb stood from his seat. "Sister," he announced with a curt nod.

"Brother."

She sat in the smaller throne, and her brother retook his place. "You're dressed differently," he noted. "I thought you had received word that there was no need to dress your best tonight."

"I had no choice," she told him. A servant carefully placed a roast on the table, cutting away at the meat to serve. Etienne pulled her sleeve from her wrist, allowing Robb's vision to seek passage of her bandage, a ring of blood surfacing.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Rickon," she told him. The servant placed a large portion of meat on Robb's pewter plate, and a much smaller cut on Etienne's. "He bit me."

Robb rubbed his face. "Mother should not have left," he sighed.

"While we are speaking of conquests," his sister began. The servant continued serving the foods, and Robb waved the meek man out. The servant bowed, and Etienne waited for his departure before continuing. "I realize your notice has been delayed, but regardless, I am still going to tell you—I am leaving tomorrow for the Eyrie."

"Absolutely not," Robb spat. "What do you think to accomplish there?"

"For the good of our family, I wish to extend an arm to Lysa and Robert—they are not safe there."

"Robert has already been promised as a ward to Tywin Lannister," Robb said. "The Lannister's would be at our throats."

"Does the mighty wolf fear the timid lion?" Etienne demanded.

"It is not a matter of fear, but being a fool!"

"So you would have our aunt and cousin torn from each other? Robert is a child! You argue with mother for leaving Rickon, and yet once it comes to Lysa you switch opinions," she told her brother. "Robert and Lysa belong _here. _They were not save when Uncle was alive, and they are not safe now."

Robb chugged his bitter wine. "And I suppose you want me to give you an army to charge to the Eyrie? I cannot spare the men, nor the supplies."

Etienne held up her hand. "I all I ask is for but a horse, and supplies for myself. I am going alone," she insisted. "Mother left with Ser Rodrik Cassel, a man we simply could not spare. I have no desire to take more men from you."

"You'll be gone for months," Robb sighed. "I'll be alone with Bran and Rickon. They need a mother figure, and you're it."

"They need their _mother_, not a figure of the likes," Etienne spat. "I am not the one who birthed them, or fed them the milk of my breast. That is our mother's position to fill, not mine."

There was a moment of silence until Robb cleared his throat. "You know the Lannister's will never approve," he said. "The king _himself _made the choice of giving Robert to them."

"The king makes decisions, and his people revolt," Etienne shrugged. "These things happen. Namesake or no namesake, Robert Baratheon has no place in our cousin's life. He'll turn the boy into a drunken, bloated lout."

"So what if he does?" Robb asked. "Who are we to question the king?"

Robb jumped in his seat at the sudden scraping of wood made by the sliding of his sister's chair, and the thud of her plunging her knife into the table, glaring at her brother. That look she formed was worse than Arya's, and almost frightened him. "We are the eldest of the Hand," she spat. "The Lannister's will not touch us as long as that pig sits on the throne. He swore to protect the Stark family, and has gifted the position of the Hand to _our _father. After I retrieve Robert, the king will only grumble on that throne made of sharp blades, but he wouldn't _dare _sending the Lannister's to cut off our heads and take the boy back."

Robb watched his sister take her leave. "King Robert will reach his death soon enough with his harsh lifestyle," he called after her. "And then what?"

Etienne stopped, turning to face him. "When the time comes, Joffrey will be crowned," she said. "Who are we to cower a boy?"

"He's as much a lion as a stag," Robb said.

"The only thing a lion and a stag can produce is a pouty son, whilst the other plays with kittens all day. Those kittens will never become lions," she told him. "And the daughter—Princess Myrcella? She would sit better on the throne than her brothers, but still she is cut from the same cloth, and will in no doubt become a monster."

"What are you getting at?"

"Crimson and bright yellow make a _nasty _shade of orange," she said. "Yet no matter what is added, you never truly accomplish perfection." With that, the eldest daughter departed silently, leaving Robb to slump into his throne, clutching his forehead while thoughts of his sister clouded his mind.

Inside of her chambers, Etienne tore dress after dress down from her wardrobes, folding them neatly to pack away. The door opened, and Etienne faced Robb . . . Only it was not Robb, but her youngest handmaiden.

"My lady," she said, bowing. "Lord Robb has requested that I help you back for your journey."

"He did?" Etienne asked. The girl nodded, already piling clothing into leather bags. "What is your name?"

"Renia," the servant said. "Renia Wood, my lady."

"A bastard, aye?"

Renia blushed. "Oh, yes. That woman you scratched earlier is my mother—she is quite distasteful of you."

"No doubt. How old are you?"

"I have lived here in Winterfell for eighteen years, my lady," she said.

Etienne pulled _The Conquest of Dorne _from her bookshelf, flattening it onto the bed. "And not another moment more. You are coming with me to the Eyrie."

Renia's face darkened. "My lady, please—"

"You desire to be away from your mother, I know. I am offering you the chance to, and yet here you stand, denying an offer I would not make lightly."

The older woman rubbed her arms. "If it please you, my lady . . ."

"It does. Now, run off and gather your possessions: we leave on the morrow."

Renia left, closing the oak doors behind her. Etienne held the blue winter rose in her hand, placing it in the middle of her book. Closing the front cover, she placed the book inside of her bag, and continued packing in silence.

**AN: All right—things have toned down, but if you all paid close enough attention, you would have picked up on very key plot points in Etienne and Robb's discussion. Much irony, aye? Maybe not irony, but . . . Well, you know what I mean.**

**I'm looking forward to the feedback, and I hope you guy's stick around. For those of you wondering, the tartan dress is pretty much the same thing as a civil war Victorian tartan gown, which is how Etienne dresses most of the time. All of her clothing is based on Victorian day and evening fashions, and late Victorian, but she doesn't wear bells because that ruins the Northern look, and is UNCOMFORTABLE AS HELL. **


End file.
